"No excellent soul is exempt from a mixture of madness." ~ Aristotle

Luna Moth on Day of Eclipse
by Duane Locke

A Luna moth on my backdoor screen.
I wonder how much of her one day on earth is left.

The phone rings. It's probably my neighbor
Telling me about the eclipse. She always

Does what is fashionable and popular.
She does not read poetry..

I don't answer the phone. Often I wish
I did not have a phone. As I observe

The pale green, I notice a damaged wing.
If something lives only one day in this world,

It cannot escape damage. The light
Behind the Luna's wings darkened.

The wings become as mystic as the greens
In El Greco. I'm entranced

By the white streaks on the border
Of the wings, streaks like El Greco saints.


Broken Flight no.2 =kubicki





Halfway House for the Incoherent
by Jennifer Gresham

She gathered them from the edges
of cities like wildflowers,
gave them each a glass of water.
When she tried drawing a map,
it turned into a tangle of roots.
In their hands, compass needles
flew in circles like a flock
of frightened birds. So they stayed—
wandered aimlessly through her garden,
the graveyard with all its lovely,
loose stones. They shared the habit
of constantly licking their lips.

The papers said she was running
some kind of cult, but that wasn’t true.
There were no fences, nor any
conversations at dinner. She told them
stories at night of following the train
tracks all the way from Kansas
to the ocean. They couldn’t understand,
so she had them draw their fingers
down the bone of her arm. Like this,
she said, but straighter.


Communication Breakdown ~Jillianelf